


take me home

by Madelinedear



Category: Cars (Movies), Disney - All Media Types
Genre: AU: Doc is alive and well thanks, Gen, Humanizations, but i need to just post this so i can finish, for now, i have a headache I'm so tired, i really like the idea of lightning keeping up with hollywood trends, inspired by the letters, some language warnings, this is much longer than i intended, this was supposed to be short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 03:43:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11304975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madelinedear/pseuds/Madelinedear
Summary: A glint of navy and a familiar outline parked next to the crew chief stand has his head spinning, and he unconsciously rises out of his chair to get a closer look. Feeling slightly dazed, he begins.“Hey, did that look like-”Before he can finish his sentence, the image cuts to an overview of McQueen’s pit crew, finally landing on a close up of his new crew chief. Gray haired and stern faced, barking instructions into the head piece. The announcer cuts him off.“Darrell, it appears McQueen has got himself a pit crew, and look who he has for a crew chief.”It can’t be, Smokey thinks, eyes glued to the scream. Louise has his arm in a vice grip. He can feel the crescents of her nails digging into his skin.“Wow, this is history in the making! Nobody has seen the racing legend in over fifty years!”For a moment the entire bar goes dead quiet, and Smokey's mind goes blank.or; The first letter arrives on a Tuesday





	take me home

**Author's Note:**

> cars 3... gave me feelings

The tiebreaker race between The King, Chick Hicks, and Lightning McQueen is the talk of even the most mild of race car fans from coast to coast. Thomasville is no exception- especially being the home to a bunch of old racing junkies. The local bar is crowded full, fit to burst as the inhabitants gather around the grainy screens.

 

(“Why can’t we just watch this at my house?” Smokey had said without any real feeling. “Even I have a better TV than that hunk of junk in the bar.”

 

As he expected, Louise had rolled her eyes.

 

“It’s about the experience, Smokey.”)

 

Louise and Scott both have money on the King’s win, though Louise has admitted privately to him that McQueen would probably be a close second.

 

“He's a goddamn mess of a person,” She had said as they had debated over stats in his kitchen. “but he's one hell of a racer.”

 

Junior put his money on Hicks. None of the group was particularly fond of the loudmouthed racer, but he was part of the tiebreaker race for the reason. There had been a very good chance of him winning the cup before McQueen, and Junior figured that there was no way Chick would settle for second again.

 

The noise of the bar is loud in Smokey’s ears, almost entirely drowning out the maxed out audio. He watches 95 fall back on screen, cursing loudly. Louise has weaseled him into putting money on McQueen. The odds are longer, especially considering Mcqueen’s week long disappearance, but she knows that he has a weak spot for a upstart rookies.

 

Suddenly McQueen speeds up to a blur, and Smokey watches in delight as the kid slowly begins making ground after a quick stop in the pits. Louise takes a swig of her drink and frowns at the screen.

 

“Did McQueen finally get his head out of his ass and hire a crew chief?” She asks, squinting interestingly at the screen.

 

Smokey leans forward in the bar seat, straining his eyes. The camera makes a quick pan over the pit crews before cutting back to McQueen, who was making headway. A glint of navy and a familiar outline parked next to the crew chief stand has his head spinning, and he unconsciously rises out of his chair to get a closer look.

 

Feeling slightly dazed, he begins.

 

“Hey, did that look like-”

 

Before he can finish his sentence, the image cuts to an overview of McQueen’s pit crew, finally landing on a close up of his new crew chief. Gray haired and stern faced, barking instructions into the head piece.

 

The announcer cuts him off.

 

“Darrell, it appears McQueen has got himself a pit crew, and look who he has for a crew chief.”

 

The crowd gives a vicious roar, and the figure on screen glances briefly at the screen, blinking when he sees an image of himself. He makes eye contact with a camera, giving it an entirely unimpressed look before turning his attention to the race.

 

_It can’t be_ , Smokey thinks, eyes glued to the scream. Louise has his arm in a vice grip. He can feel the crescents of her nails digging into his skin.

 

“Wow, this is history in the making! Nobody has seen the racing legend _in over fifty years_!”

 

For a moment the entire bar goes dead quiet, and Smokey's mind goes blank.

 

-

 

Mcqueen wins abut then he doesn't, and the King crashes but finishes his last race.

 

Nobody in Thomasville will shut the hell up about Lightning McQueen, and they sure as hell won’t shut up about the Fabulous Hudson Hornet either.

 

The nation is eating the pair up, rookie sensation and legend comeback story. No one seems to pay mind to the fact that it’s the off season, and articles about the pair splatter headlines for weeks. Hud refuses again and again to comment or interview, seemingly less than thrilled about his newly renowned fame.

 

McQueen takes the opportunity to promote a small town on Route 66, Radiator Springs. There’s not an interview or commentary he makes where it doesn’t come up, and soon it’s announced that it’s to be the location of his new headquarters, throwing the news into another tizzy.

 

Four months after the Piston Cup tiebreaker, a lucky studio announces that they’ve booked Lightning Mcqueen and Doc Hudson for an exclusive interview to be shown live. The nation goes berserk.

 

Smokey and the gang watch it from a booth at the same bar where they had watched Hud make his great return.

 

Up until now the others have been walking on eggshells around him. He knows for a fact that they’ve been following the press coverage around the pair just as much as the rest of the nation, but none of them have wanted to press him about it. In the back of his mind, he knows they’re probably trying to figure out his comfort zone with the situation and give him a way out, but the constant misdirection and awkward silences are pissing him off.

 

The day before the interview he had finally snapped, and he and Louise had escalated the situation into a heated argument where she had told him to kindly “ _sort out his fucking emotions_ ” before he murdered someone with the looks he was giving.

 

Anyway.

 

The interview is scheduled to be an hour and ends up nearly double the length.

 

Scott points out that the increase is probably gonna fuck up the channel’s scheduling, while Junior shoots back that no one in their right mind is gonna tell the nation’s favorite dynamic duo to cut it short.

 

From the start of the interview, It’s evident that McQueen’s shifted, somehow. He’s still the smart mouthed rookie he’s always been, flashing his devil-may-care smile and winking at the camera, but he’s more careful with his words. He’s downright polite and a little abashed, and it works well for him. The kid’s always had a sort of natural charm that shrouded him in interviews, but it had always been marred by the cocksure attitude and infamous ego.

 

Now though, he positively shines next to Hud. Though the elder seems less than thrilled to be there, the two have an easy dynamic that plays well to the cameras. Hud has a way of being able to bring McQueen back down to look with only a look, and throughout the interview McQueen slowly brings his mentor out of his disgruntled shell.

 

They tease and taunt as much as they praise each other’s skills, delighting the interviewer who must believe she’s won the jackpot. Hud occasionally throws in an anecdote about the old racing days, which seems to delight McQueen as much of the audience.

 

In the final minutes, McQueen and Hud get into a heated discussion about racing techniques that eventually escalates into McQueen challenging Hud to an impromptu drag race outside, to which he accepts with a sharp glint in his eyes. The interviewer hastily interrupts them, announcing the end of the interview and thanking them both, joking about the legality of such a thing.

 

(McQueen posts a photo later that night of the two of them leaning against the Hudson Hornet, the deep blue paint reflecting what looks to be neon lights. His caption reads

 

_Old Man’s still got it. I’ll get you next time, Doc._

 

Coupled with a civilian recording of what appears to be a street race involving a red and blue car, which no one can exactly identify as McQueen’s 95 and the Hornet, It’s splashes around national media for days.)

 

The show runs through closing credits in addition to an assorted clip show the studio’s created that revolves around the duo. Footage from after the Piston Cup race as well as newer media taken from reporters at Radiator Springs flicker by. Smokey’s eyes linger on the screen, watching McQueen and Hud shaking hands and grinning at each other at the end of a stretch. They’re too far away for the camera to pick up audio, but Hud says something that makes Lightning grin, and soon enough the show snaps off with a robotic apology about scheduling conflicts.

 

-

 

Smokey feels like a teenager again, emotions scattered in every possible direction. He’s not sure how he wound up with so many of them, but he would like to return them, please and thank you.

 

Every time Hud’s image comes into view he doesn’t know what to feel.

 

Anger, because fifty years is a hell of a long time to not even let your closest friends know you’re alive. Relief, because after all these years Smokey finally knows that _Hud is alive and fine and shouldn't that be enough_? Pride, at the way Hud had settled an arm around the kid’s shoulders in the photos after  

 

(There was a moment, only a moment,

 

(when McQueen bursts out laughing during the interview at something Hud said, and after a moment the seemingly permanent stern look on Hud’s face shattered as he gave into laughter as well and he looked twenty years younger)

 

where he had wondered whether Hud had a son and didn’t even bother to call him.

 

The thought leaves as quick as it comes. McQueen’s a famed orphan, parents dead in a wreck when he was four, bounced around through foster homes. The press and everyone else loves a good orphan story.

 

Anyways, Hud had never taken much of an interest in women the way the others had. He had never taken an interest in anyone or anything, really, except for racing.)

 

So he doesn’t know what to feel, without wanting to feel shattered, to feel exhausted and proud and joyous at once, so he settles on feeling nothing.

 

For once, he closed his eyes and tried to let the affair wash over him like a heatwave in the dead of summer.

 

-

 

The first letter arrives on a Tuesday.

 

The envelope’s a dingy off-white, as though the paper had been left to sit in a box for too long, beginning to show the slightest hints of yellow aging around the creases. He hasn’t received a letter in years, Smokey thinks offhandedly, turning it over in his hands. These days, well. These days the only people he really talks to are right here in Thomasville with him, relics from another age that’s withering away. For a moment he wonders if it’s a mistake, but no, there’s his name in sharp blue writing.

 

_Smokey Cooper_.

 

There’s no return address, causing him only a fraction of hesitation before tearing the envelope open. There’s indeed a letter, as he expected, but also a photo.

For a moment Smokey’s heart leaps in his throat and his hand tightens involuntarily around the paper, crumpling the edges in harsh lines. He drops the letter on the counter, pressing his hands into the cool marble and taking a deep breath. When he finally finds it within him to pick up the letter, his pretends that his hands aren’t tembling.

 

_Smokey,_

 

_I guess that I have a lot of explaining to do._

 

_I hope you and the others are doing well. It may have been a few years, but i’m fairly certain that you’ve all kept up with racing, so i’m sure you’ve all heard of my latest racing appearance with the nation’s favorite rookie. Even in the unlikely case that you haven’t, I feel that it’s unlikely that word hasn’t reached you yet._

_I’m not entirely sorry for my abrupt departure, for I think it was the best. But I’m sorry for leaving without a word, for never contacting you for fifty some odd years. It’s not until recently that I really registered the damage and hurt I caused you as I selfishly focused on myself all those years ago. When I left, I didn’t even spare time to think of you or Louise or the others. I could only think of myself and the anger I felt. I just drove, on and on and on, hoping to get away from it all._

 

_I meant to leave the racing world behind me, and somehow that ended up including you. I guess I thought-_

 

The t is thick with ink, slightly blotted. Smokey can imagine the Hud he knew bent low over a desk, hesitating with his tongue between his teeth.

 

_I guess I thought that you would be able to change my mind, or pull me back into the game, somehow. And I was just so_ angry _. At the new racers, at the sponsors, at myself-_

 

_I guess it doesn't matter, anyways, after fifty years._

 

_After all that, it seems as though i’ve found my way back to that life again, although certainly not in the way I would expected. Damn rookie. Maybe it’s a story I could tell you another day, presuming this letter actually finds you._

 

_McQueen is bullheaded and reckless the day is long, but damn it all if the boy doesn't know how to give even me a run for my money. This kid is something else, Smokey. I think he has the potential to make racing history someday, provided he can keep his rash nature in check._

 

_I figured I owed you this much, at least. I owe you more, probably._

 

_Hud_

 

-

 

He doesn’t bring it up for days, instead towing around the subject of his snappish mood. Louise gives him nearly a week before letting herself into his house and stealing a beer from her fridge.

 

She plops herself down in the seat next to Smokey at the kitchen table, where hes been watching her without much emotion. She doesn’t say anything, instead busying herself with the paper, occasionally taking a drink. Though she seems relaxed, the silence feels strained, and Smokey realizes it’s all because of him.

 

“Hud sent me a letter.” He says finally, because he can’t stand the godforsaken silence. It doesn't seem like enough, really, but he doesn't know what else to say. Louise seems frustratingly unsurprised by this statement.  

 

“After fifty years.” He clarifies, because dammit he just wants someone to understand how he’s feeling. “Fifty years without a word, then out of the blue he wants to talk again.”

 

She shrugs, rising to make her way into the kitchen Her bare feet make light sounds on the tile, and he can hear old beer cans clink as she tosses hrs away.

 

“Why are you mad?” Louise asks from the fridge, frowning at his food selection. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

 

Smokey makes a frustrated noise, standing momentarily only so he can move to lay on the couch.

 

“I thought so too.” he says, staring at the ceiling, because _god_ , how ridiculous was this. Louise takes the time to grab an apple and join him in the sitting area, dropping onto the neighboring loveseat.

 

“So,” she says, in between bites of her apple. “Are you gonna go after him?”

 

Smokey runs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t say _if he wanted me to go after him he would have called, he would have contacted me sooner, he would have left me a return address_. Instead he says

 

“I don't think he wants to see me, right now. At least not yet.”

 

Louise makes a noncommittal noise and takes another bite of her apple. Her hands ghost briefly on the arm of his couch, grabbing for the remote. There’s a moment of quiet where all he hears is the scratch of plastic against nails, nd then something like hesitation.

 

“And what do you want?” She says, and when he canes his neck to see her she’s pointedly looking at the blank TV screen. He turns back to his prior position, staring at the old ceiling.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

There’s an almost imperceptible sigh.

 

“Yeah.” She says, and this time she really does turn on the tv. The audio flares for a moment before steadying, and she guide the channels to a nature documentary. “That’s what I thought.”

 

-

 

Hud starts sending him letters semi frequently.

 

He blinks in surprise at the second one, but by the fourth he realizes he come to expect it

 

The letters are filled with monotonous things, comments about the people Hud knows, the place he lives now. Sometimes he’ll write about the goings about of the townspeople or tourists. Gradually, Smokey begins to build a mental town in his mind based off Hud’s descriptions. He imagines a brightly light fluorescent cafe where Hud likes to frequent, the local dirt tracks he like’s to run the hornet around.

 

Mostly, though, Hud writes about the Rookie.

 

Hud’s writing seems to flourish when the boy comes up. His handwriting slants in the way it does whenever he’s writing quickly, as though he can’t get words out fast enough. He writes about the improvements McQueen is making, the racing quarters he’s setting up, the arguments they have and his hothead attitude. There’s pride and exasperation and affection in every stroke Hud writes.

 

The season starts back up. Though the letters decrease in frequency, they remain a constant he looks forward to. More often than not they’re stuffed with articles centering around McQueen’s latest win, occasionally accompanied by a photo of the rookie or the two of them.

 

(Still, Smokey notices the lack of a return address every time.)

 

-

 

He starts hanging up the letters and photos and articles on a back wall of the garage. It’s not a big deal, at first. He as a tendency to lose anything smaller than a hubcap in the sea of all his tools- pinning the the contents of the first letter to the wall is just a good way to make sure he never loses it.

 

(It’s also a good reminder that Hud’s still out there. Smokey feels a disconnect between the old car he sees on tv and the rookie he used to know, but the flimsy pieces of paper help bridge the gap, somehow.)

 

So the first few letters don’t look much much of anything, but once a large part of the wall is swallowed by articles, well. Louise tells him it looks too much like a shrine, or a memorial.

 

(And maybe it is, a little. Maybe it’s for the kid that Smokey lost in that wreck.)

 

-

 

McQueen wins his first Piston cup, finishing the race 2.1 seconds ahead of the next racer, and the nation goes wild. Smokey is thrilled. He also doesn’t expect to get a letter from Hud any time soon. McQueen’s sure to get swept up in all the excitement, the parties and awards and interviews and press conferences. It’s all something he should have gotten last year, but somehow the wait has created an even bigger sensation.

 

Hud is sure to be right there with him. After all, McQueen credit’s his training at every opportunity. Smokey’s sure the press is dying to get even just a small statement from him.

 

When the letter arrives three days after the big win, he can’t help the warmth that blooms over him.

 

He tears the envelope open without much thought, quickly scanning over the letter. There’s an article attached, and a grin fits firmly on his face. The headline shouts

 

LIGHTNING MCQUEEN CLAIMS PISTON CUP AT LAST

 

There’s a subheader underneath, reading

 

_Rookie Sensation Credits Former Racer Fabulous Hudson Hornet For Win_

 

The article is a wide and sweeping story, roughly rounding out both Hud and McQueen’s backstory before delving into the current day. Smokey’s favorite piece of the clipping is the accompanying photo. McQueen and Hud raising the Piston Cup over their heads together, caught mid laugh.

 

He spends another moment smiling at the photo, before he sees something smudged on the scrapped envelope sitting on the table in his peripheral. Putting down the photo, he turns over the ripped paper, a soaring feeling in his chest. There, in spiked blue handwriting, is a return address to Radiator Springs.

 

-

 

The old building reads _Ornament Valley Mechanical Clinic_ , with _Doc Hudson_ in the subtitle.

 

He’s heard that Hud was a doctor, through bios and articles and small references in his letters, but he's never really given it much thought before. The Hud in his mind is a racer, and then a crew chief. It only makes sense that he’s picked up a few things over the years.

 

Now, staring at him in fresh paint, an uncertain feeling washes over him. Fifty years is a long time, he wonders if the person he’s going to meet is unrecognizable.

 

He toils on the doorstep for much longer than he should, _stupid stupid stupid idea Hud doesn't want to see you_ , and when he finally brings himself to knock the door remains closed and unresponsive.

 

He frowns at the frame, squinting at the open hours sheet posted on the side window. A loud cry of

 

“Hey there, buddy!”

 

from a few inches behind him makes him jump involuntarily, and his shoulder slams into the building as he spins to get a good look at the newcomer.

 

“Shoo, sorry bout that. McQueen says I have ta give strangers more personal space.”

 

Clutching his aching shoulder, Smokey gives the newcomer a bewildered look. The man shoots him a wide grin boasting of large and crooked front teeth. Readjusting his faded trucker’s hat, he went on

 

“ ‘S there anything I can help you with? Name’s Mater.”

 

Smokey takes a few seconds to take in the stranger appearance, overalls worn and coated with dust. _He’d fit right in in Thomasville,_ he thinks. He gives a quick glance back to the hours posted on the door before giving a shrug.

 

“From the hours posted I was under the impression that he would be open, but it seems I was mistaken.”

 

Mater’s eyes widen and he slaps his knee.

 

“Dagum, that's what I forgot to do!” He says hurriedly, patting down his pockets and retrieving a folded up piece of paper. He moves forward towards the window and Smokey automatically steps aside, watching as the man tapes the sign over the hour sheet.

 

_Closed for the day, will reopen tomorrow._

 

Mater turns his head towards him and gives him a guilty look.

 

“Doc told me ta put that up this morning when he went out. Guess it just slipped my mind.”

 

It takes Smokey a moment to connect _Doc_ with _Hud_. For some reason it leaves a strange taste in his mouth.

 

“Ah.” He says finally, nodding. He tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. “I suppose i’ll come back tomorrow.”

 

Mater shrugs.

 

“Well, if it’s Doc ya lookin for, you could always just head on over ta Willy’s Butte.”

 

-

 

Mater’s directions to Willy’s Butte are maddeningly unclear, but Smokey thanks him anyways. A kind looking sherriff he meets at the gas station gives him directions that are only a shade better, and it takes him the better part of an hour to finally get to the track.

 

(“You’re trying to get to the track?” Sheriff had asked him, mustache twitching and eyebrows raised. Smokey blinked.

 

“I didn’t realize it was a track, but I guess so. I’m looking for Doc Hudson.”

 

The name _Doc_ feels odd in his mouth, but the Sheriff nods. )

 

-

 

When he finally reaches the track, two things catch his eye. A speeding smudge of bright red against the pale sand of the track, dust trailing in the wake. Looking slightly above the track is a well worn car, smooth dark blue polish gleaming in the sunlight. It’s the figure leaning against the hood that makes his stomach turn.

 

Without giving it much thought he pulls up near the old race car, turning up dust. The figure grimaces, waving his hand to clear the air as he turns, frowning in his direction.

 

“This is a closed practice.” A gruff voice calls, and Smokey feels familiar thrill run down his spine. He gives himself a moment to breathe, then forced himself to open the door, stepping into the shining light.

 

The figure gives a startled blink, taking a half step back.

 

“Smokey.” Hud says, and for a moment it seems like they both forget to breathe. A low crackle of static cuts between them, and Hud taps his earpiece, momentarily giving his attention to the dirt track.

 

“Nice maneuver kid. Gimme two more of your best laps and we’ll call it a day.”

 

Smokey can hear a muffled response, ghosted over in static and too quiet for him to hear, but he sees Hud lock his jaw in the way he always did when he wanted to stop a laugh. Sharp blue eyes glittering with mirth, he says

 

“Careful rookie, or I'll make it five.”

 

Smokey can’t pick up a response this time, but he imagines from the look on Hud’s face that there had been low complaints, but none loud enough to be a direct contradiction. He taps the earpiece again, turning his attention back to Smokey. He clears his throat, bringing  hand up to the back of his neck.

 

“You got my letters.” He says, and he sounds almost disbelieving, but pleased. “I wasn’t sure if they would reach you, or if you had moved, or-”

 

“You could have found out a lot quicker if you had given me the return address.” Smokey says, but his tone is light.

 

“Yeah.” Hud agrees, looking guilty. After a beat, he adds “I guess I needed more time.”

 

Smokey chuckles, closing the feet between them to lean on the Hornet beside Hud.

 

“Fifty year not long enough?” Smokey says, and Doc actually laughs, and it’s the most beautiful thing Smokeys ever heard.

 

The familiar hum of the racecar in the distance is comforting. It sets him at ease, and from the released tension in Hud’s shoulders he can see for him it’s doing the same. They spend the next few moments in silence, watching the dust trail after McQueen’s car on the track. Hud gives him a sidelong glance, smiling slightly.

 

“It’s good to see you, Smokey.”

 

Warmth floods through him, and he found himself returning the grin.

 

“You too kid.”

 

An new engine rev captures both their attention, and the pair watch the red race car speed towards, racing off the track and up to where they had been watching.

 

It seems like the vehicle’s barely skidded to a halt when the rookie comes barrelling out, making a beeline for Hud. He looks positively giddy, sweeping back dark hair and waving away the dust his car kicked up. A loud shout of

 

“Doc!” breaks through the sudden silence, and both Smokey and Hud watch the young man approach. McQueen doesn’t even seem to register Smokey’s presence, his eyes fixed on his mentor.

 

“Did you see that, old man?” He crows when he’s finally within earshot. The grin on his face could have stretched for miles. “You better watch out, I'm coming for that record.”

 

Hud snorts, fixing McQueen with an unimpressed look.

 

“You ain't no dirt boy, son, at least not yet. For now I sure as hell ain’t gonna lose any sleep over it.”

 

McQueen’s grin doesn’t fade.  

 

“Sure, Doc.” He says amicably, finally taking notice of the other figure standing there. For a moment his smile falters, then turns to something apologetic. His mouth opens, and Smokey’s sure he’s going to apologize, but Hud cuts across him.

 

“Kid, this is Smokey Cooper.” He says, momentarily clasping Smokey’s shoulder. “My old mentor when I was still on the track.”

 

McQueen’s face lights up. Smokey can’t tell this whether due to recognition or just ordinary curiosity, but welcomes the enthusiasm nonetheless.

 

“So,” Smokey says, because he’s never been one to hide what’s on his mind.  “Your Hud’s boy, then.”

 

There’s a split second after he speaks where he considers that he may have misstepped. Hud freezes and his eyes widen a fraction, back stiff, but McQueen takes it in stride. As he reaches out to shake Smokey’s hand his grin is almost blinding.

 

“That’s me.” He confirms, grip strong. “Smokey, you said?”

 

Hud’s shoulders relax again, and he crosses his arms to hide the momentary discomfort.

 

“That’s me.” Smokey finds himself saying with a small grin. “Congrats on the latest win, kid. That was quite a race, and I used to watch this one at the top of his game.”

 

McQueen’s eyes flare with interest, but Hud interrupts him as he opens his mouth.

 

“How about we continue this discuss down at Flo’s?” He says in the familiar low gravel. It’s more of a statement than a question, but McQueen doesn’t seem to mind.

 

“Sure thing Doc.” He says, face turning serious. “I’ll take the Hornet.”

 

Hud’s expression is downright withering, and the rookie takes a step back, raising his hands.

 

“A joke, Doc. Just a joke!” He says hastily, already turning to make his way to his car. Sliding into the seat, he adds “I’m picking up Sally, so I may be a little late.”

 

He revs the engine unnecessarily, grinning at Doc’s disapproving expression. Leaning outside the open window as he passes, Lightning yells

 

“But you _are_ gonna let me drive that car someday!”

 

The rookie speeds past, kicking up dust and causing Hud to curse quietly. He keeps his eyes on McQueen until he’s a small blur in the distance, finally turning to meet Smokey’s eyes. He fishes in his pocket, finally pulling out familiar worn keys. For the first time that day, he finally sees a bit of the old light in Hud’s eyes.

 

“So, Smokey.” He says. ”Can I buy you a drink?”

 

-

 

Flo’s V8 Cafe is air conditioned.

 

Smokey finds himself incredibly grateful for this small fact as he and Hud make their way through Radiator Springs, parking at the clinic to save spaces for customers at the cafe. Thomasville can get warm, sure, but it’s not in the middle of the desert.

 

The cafe is cozy but bustling, and Hud seems to know everyone.

 

(Of course he’s _Doc_ , now.

 

It seems like they can’t walk five feet without hearing a cry of _Doc!_ And Smokey tries not to be annoyed.)

 

They settle at a table that must be Hud’s regular spot and order quickly right off the menu. They’re both making an effort to pretend like this isn’t a weighted conversation, that everything is normal.

 

“So you’re a crew chief, a doctor, and a judge now?” He’s asking, trying to understand the implication behind all of it, before a flood of light from the front of the building draws his eyes.

 

McQueen opens the door of the cafe with a bang, a tall blonde in tow. Bright blue eyes quickly scan the room, and after only a moment he spots them with a grin. He lifts a hand in greeting and gestures towards them to his companion, who rolls her eyes but gives a fond smile.

 

The pair are met with various greetings from whom Smokey can only assume are townspeople as they make their way across the room, waving hands in greeting and returning a few hellos.

 

When they finally reach the table, Smokey introduces himself, giving her a small smile. Before she can introduce herself, McQueen jumps in.

 

“This is my lawyer, Sally.” Lightning tells him, straight faced and faux serious. Of course, Smokey already knows who she is, by face at least. The papers always jump for a McQueen story, and he’s accustomed to seeing the blonde haired woman accompanying him through the season.

 

Sally rolls his eyes as she reaches out to shake his hand, but the corners of her mouth twitch.

 

“Fiance, actually.” She corrects casually, but it’s enough to make Lightning break out into a grin. Smokey doesn’t bother hiding his surprise. It must be quite a recent development if the press hasn’t got a hold of it.

 

“Congratulations.” He says genuinely, and Sally give him a warm look before leaning over the counter to order a meal. Lightning orders some kind of drink Smokey’s never heard of, but it makes all the inhabitants in the surrounding area cringe. The dark skinned waitress titters disapprovingly but takes his order, pursing neon green lips.

 

“C’mon Flo.” He wheedles. “You make ‘em better than anyone I know.”

 

“If you say so honey.” She says unconvincingly, although she looks somewhat pleased, before heading into the kitchen. Sally shoots him an exasperated look.

 

“It’s all the rage in Cali, Sal. Besides, it’s good for you. It’s got a crazy amount of nutrients. How else do you think I keep this look up?”

 

He gestures to his body with a flourish, which is admittedly in fairly good shape. Sally rolls her eyes.

 

“You know what’s healthy, kid?” Hud says, eyeing the thick green green Flo sets in front of the rookie with distaste. “Eating solid food. Preferably provided by mother nature.”

 

McQueen takes a seat, closely followed by Sally, wrinkling his nose at Hud’s chili.

 

“ _Oh my god,_ Doc _, carbs_.”

 

-

 

The conversation loosens comfortably afterwards. They dig into their food and speak between bites, except for Lightning, who sips on the disgusting looking green beverage without batting an eye.

 

“So,” McQueen says, moving his straw absently in his half empty cup. “What was Doc like when he started racing? Big planner, had every step thought out in advance, never made a move he hadn’t calculated?”

 

Smokey almost chokes on his drink. Once he’s finished coughing, he squints at Hud over his drink, fixing him with a sharp gaze.

 

“What kind of lies have you been feeding this boy, Hud?” He says, raising a bushy eyebrow. The former racing sensation miraculously looks slightly abashed, and Smokey internally cheers, counting this as an accomplishment.

 

Smokey snorts, turning back to the young racer who’s looking at him expectantly with wide blue eyes.

 

“Hud was damn near the most reckless racer I ever saw on the track.” He says, pausing to take in the gleeful expression on McQueen’s face. “That was of course, until you started racing.”

 

McQueen throws back his head and gives a delighted laugh, Sally doing the same. Even Doc breaks out into a smile. When the kid catches his breath, he directs his attention over to Hud.

 

“Well Doc.” He says smugly, wiping a stray tear off his cheek. “Guess we’re more alike than you let on.”

 

-

 

“The others would love to see you down in Thomasville.” He finds himself saying much, much later.

 

(Smokey can’t tell how long they’ve been at the cafe, and finds that he doesn’t mind not knowing the time. For all his fears, he and Hud find the same click that they had years ago. Hud’s eager to hear about Thomasville, about Louise and the others. Smokey asks about how Lightning came to Radiator Springs. The rookie scowls but Sally grins at him, and she and Hud begin the story of how the racer literally crashed into their lives.

 

Various townspeople eavesdropping or passing by add their own comments whilst Lightning argues good humoredly about details that put him in a bad light. Unsurprisingly, Smokey finds himself completely charmed by the town. He can understand easily why Hud decided to stay here of all places.

 

He gets on with everyone well enough, the majority of the townspeople downright welcoming. Smokey decides early on that he likes Sally, kind but sharp witted, bold enough to keep even McQueen in check. _Lawyer_ , he thinks. He sure’s she’s a damn near incredible one.

 

Speaking of McQueen- he’s much fonder of the boy than he expected to be. He’s got a wide heart and genuine passion underneath the bravado. The more time he spends in the racer’s presence, the more he’s achingly reminded of Hud in his rookie years.

 

He wonders if the feeling is going to become permanent.)

 

“You mean it?” McQueen asks him, surprised but thrilled. When Smokey nods, he turns to Sally, eyes shining.

 

“We’re going to have to make the trip.” He declares, sweeping dark hair out of his face. Giving Doc a quick side eye, he adds casually “I'd love to see the home track of the greatest racer who ever lived.”

 

Smokey can see him forcefully look anywhere but at Doc, instead beginning to bicker with Sally about when he has the time in his schedule to take a few days off.

 

“He’s not the only one the others would like to see.” Smokey adds after watching the young couple for a few seconds, momentarily meeting Hud’s eyes. Quickly he turns away to take another bite out of his burger, but he can feel Hud’s eyes on him, burning into the back of his skull.

 

-

 

He stays in Radiator Springs for over a week, but he finds himself wanting to stay. It’s a different feeling than Thomasville, and he’s only just getting to know the folks there.

 

(“You’ll just have to come back.” Sally says confidently to him when he mentions this to her, a nervous smile on her face.)

 

Hud continues to write, and this time Smokey returns the favor.

 

He takes pictures to send, of the old track, of their favorite haunts, of Louise and the others. He writes about town gossip and Junior’s newest batch of Moonshine. He asks about the townspeople, about the development of the museum McQueen’s funding and how business in town is.

 

Hud writes back often as he can, now that the season’s started back up. He occasionally passes along messages for McQueen, who promises to make a trip down to Thomasville as soon as the seasons lets up.

 

Smokey and the other’s pile into the bar every Sunday to watch the events, this time for once racer in particular. It’s one of the best years Smokey can remember having in a long time.

 

Two week’s before the final race for the Piston Cup, Hud’s letter contains a surprise- a full access ticket to the race and instructions on where to meet the team if he chooses to come down.

 

-

 

He gets to California the night before the race. After the long drive he’s too exhausted to do much other make his rounds, letting the others know he’s there.

 

McQueen greets him with a delighted shout, practically bouncing around before guiding him over to the Radiator Springs group. He can’t seem to stay still, which, going by everyone else's reaction, is quite normal for him before a race.

 

After the kid trips over his own feet and nearly breaks an ankle, saved only by a quick move on Ramone’s part, Doc orders him to bed to get a full night of rest. Smokey takes the opportunity to do the same, giving a tired smile at a chorus of groans that accompany his departure. Hud walks him out of the room, and the two take a moment to talk without interruptions.

 

Doc writes down his room number and tells Smokey to meet him there tomorrow morning at eight. Smokey can’t quite contain a yawn and Hud gives him a fond look, shooing him away and ordering him to get some sleep. He almost shoots back _hey, you’re in charge of the kid but i’m in charge of you_ , but when he opens his mouth he can’t stop another yawn, so he lets it be.

 

-

 

When Smokey reaches Hud’s room in the morning, the old racer’s looking calmly frazzled. Smokey takes the opportunity to borrow toothpaste he forgot, and when he exits the bathroom Hud is pacing recklessly, tracing an invisible set pattern in the floor.

 

Smokey watches him for a half minute before Hud realizes he’s being watched, and hastily forces his feet to stop moving.

 

“We should get going.” He says gruffly, moving to the door and pushing it forward.

 

Hud hesitates in the doorframe, fingers drumming momentarily along the paneling. It’s a well worn nervous tic that gives Smokey pause. Hud must realize this at the same moment he does, because a moment later he straightens his fingers out forcefully before dropping his hand down.

 

For a few seconds there’s only silence. Smokey raises an eyebrow and Doc takes a short breath, looking up to meet his eye.

 

“I’m sorry.” Hud says. “For all of it.”

 

There’s a beat of silence between them, and for a moment Smokey remembers the punk ass kid who came rolling into town, proclaiming himself _The Fabulous Hudson Hornet_ before he’d even won a race. He thinks of Hud laughing with Louise in the garage, the way he used to hype himself up before a race. He thinks of fifty silent years and the look in Hud’s eyes after McQueen won his first Piston cup, the Rookie’s arm thrown carelessly over his shoulder.

 

Then the memories fade, and it’s just Hud.  

 

“I know.” He says, and he’s not at all surprised to find that it’s true. The tension in Hud’s shoulder’s seem to drain all at once, and he lets out a shaky breath. Smokey moves forward automatically, closing the space between them.

 

“Now,” He says, throwing an arm around Hud’s shoulders.“Let’s go watch your kid win his next Piston Cup.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> so this is wayyyy way longer than i intended it to be but i'm just glad to put it out there finally.


End file.
